Hunger
by F.E.Lin78
Summary: Why is Count von Krolock, a centuries old vampire, interested in Sarah? He is an educated nobleman, she is a simple village girl. It must be something more, something deeper….
1. Chapter 1- Birth Day Witness

Title: Hunger

Rating: T for now, will issue warnings if it progresses further.

Genre: Drama/romance

Disclaimer: Tanz Der Vampire and its associated characters all belong to Roman Polanski, Jim Steinman and Michael Kunze. This fanfic is written solely for entertainment, not financial gain.

Summary: Why is Count von Krolock, a centuries old vampire, interested in Sarah? He is an educated nobleman, she is a simple village girl. It must be something more, something deeper….

A/N: I didn't really intend to write this at all but after watching parts of TdV on YouTube I couldn't stop thinking about the story and the translation (as I do not speak German) and hearing the amazing music and voices swirling in my head. I started writing a little TdV vignette as a break from my original novel (please God, help me finish it!) and don't know how it became this…thing. I think you TdV writers have infected me. I usually write slash, so this is a little bit of a departure for me. Wasn't sure about posting this after reading some of the amazing fic here, but what the heck. And yes, I've read with interest all those deep discussions about the meaning of TdV, about the relationships, about love & lust, the evil and the good side of living forever…this is a spin on the elements of the musical, not tight to canon, okay? I'm a romantic; so sue me. Also, the story is one chapter away from being completed. I'm having some issues with formatting and uploading to this site. I apologize if you see any words run together or other strange formatting gaffes. Any other mistakes, like spelling, please let me know. I try to be careful, but no one's perfect.

"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy." Hamlet (1.5, 166-7).

**xxx**

**_Hunger_**

**_Chapter 1_**

**_Birth Day Witness_**

**_0_**

Count von Krolock stood on the battlements of his castle looking out into the night. His senses ranged far afield, surveying his domain. On the wind hunger called to him, sweet as newly spilled blood. It drew him from his dark meditations and down into the small village at the foot of the mountain.

A woman in childbirth, at the small inn. He smelled the child come forth in blood and water, heard her fierce cry, felt the hunger. A babe, an infant, demanding to be fed. A simple enough birth, they happened all the time in the families of his territory. Replenishing the herd, growing the livestock. He had no illusions as to what these mortals meant to him and his ilk: food. To think otherwise always invited pain and death. He could never forget what he was.

Nevertheless, he couldn't stay away. Curiosity drew him, almost more than the drive to feed. It seemed like an eternity since he had felt anything more engrossing than bloodlust.

For the life of him-or unlife, he thought wryly-he didn't know how or why he found his feet pacing the perimeter of the inn, night after night. Staying to the shadows, listening and watching, always on the outside looking in. And inside, a comely pink-cheeked wife rocked her first born daughter, her innkeeper husband doting on them both, smiling indulgently. The scene brought up the ghost of a memory...the day long ago he had held his own first born, a tiny boy-child, head crowned with ashen gold, his son Herbert, his heir apparent.

He turned away from the sight of domestic bliss, forced himself back to his eyrie, to his world of night, to his family of darkness.

Why wallow in the past, which could not be altered? Why waste even one waking moment on the light he would never see again…other than the tempting thought of THE last sunrise, glorious and searing, before a blessed nothingness….

He wanted to forget. Only one existence remained now.

Yet, four months later, he clung to the roof of the inn in the dead of night, considering the attic window. It was unlocked, cracked open to let in the warm spring air. It was the work of a moment to slip inside, to glide down the ladder onto the landing of the second floor. He already knew where innkeeper Chagal and his wife Rebecca slept, and he knew their little daughter slept in the small adjoining room, a makeshift nursery. His nose wrinkled at the lingering smell of garlic wafting up from below, but mercifully the bulbs of the "stinking rose" were absent upstairs. He felt a slight smile quirk his mouth as he recalled the loud argument some months ago. It had ended with Chagal grumbling but removing every trace of the noxious plant from the bedrooms as Rebecca trailed after him, glaring if he missed even a clove.

A few moments later and he stood in the nursery, drawing back the curtains and opening the window. Slight rustling sounds greeted his ears as he turned toward the crib sitting in the center of the small room. He scooped up the baby- _Sarah_ her parents had named her-and held her up in the moonlight.

"Hello little one," he breathed. Little insistent feet thumped against his chest. He gave a low throaty laugh, charmed. He could already see the beauty she would become in the curves of her face, the underlying structure of cheekbone and jawline. Wavy reddish-brown curls stood up every which way on her skull.

When her face screwed up and her body began to arch in his hands, he soothed her. Crooning soft and low, a wordless lullaby. She calmed, unclenching her fists, greenish eyes regarding him gravely. For a long moment he gazed back, her head engulfed in one taloned hand, her body nestled in the other. Her heartbeat fluttered against his palm, rapid as a bird's. So small, so helpless. How easy it would be to snuff out such a life, how simple. But he was sick of death, sick of the black thing he carried inside, a part of him yet not. Instead, he breathed in her scent, milky and sweet, opening his mouth to taste itbetter, letting his tongue slip past the curb of his canines. He settled her back into her crib and closed the window, letting the curtains fall. In the familiar darkness he slipped back out the way he had come in.

He tried to stay away then, tried to distract himself with other, darker amusements. Still the strange hunger prodded him, _her_ hunger, growing with each passing season, each passing year. Again and again that yearning drew him, until he gave up resisting.

**xxx**

_A/N: "I've been waiting for you, Since you've been born. I've waited patiently, But not for long. And since I know all your dreams, I understand what you need, And when I call you, You must go where I lead. Your dreams are so hungry, It's time now to feed."_

_- from translation of Gott Ist Tott, provided by Vamptanzen's "Tanz der Vampire" Site._


	2. Chapter 2- Angel

**_Chapter 2_**

**_Angel_**

**_6_**

One crisp evening, in the fall of her sixth year of life, Sarah stood at her bedroom window staring up at the full moon. Von Krolock, hidden in the shadow of an adjoining building, gazed at her small upturned face lit by moon-glow, rapt as if listening to distant music. Long tousled hair drifted over her shoulders like a cloak, warm auburn against white nightgown.

"Sarah! What are you doing out of bed?" Rebecca Chagal bustled over, wrapped a shawl around her daughter. "You should be asleep."

"Mama, the night is singing. Can you hear it?"

"What are you talking about, child?"

"Sometimes an angel comes and sings to me at night."

"A what?"

Von Krolock smiled. So she did hear his voice from the cover of darkness, pitched almost below the range of human hearing, singing sweet lullabies to float her into sleep, old ancient folk songs, love songs, songs of comfort when she wept bitter tears. A demon he might be, but apparently he could be an angel too.

"An angel? Don't speak of such things. What would an angel of God have to do with a simple girl like you?"

"I heard him," Sarah insisted. "Singing..." She lifted her voice in a sweet treble, the first verse of an old _cantec de leagan_*.

"Shhh! You'll wake someone! That's enough of your nonsense. Back to bed you go."

Von Krolock frowned. Modulating his voice with care, he echoed Sarah's melody, a bass counterpoint, very low and very quiet, a mere whisper on the air.

"What was that?" Rebecca's usually confident voice held a slight quaver.

"See, Mama? I told you!" Sarah shook off her mother's hands and leaned far out over the windowsill, eyes searching the black, her gaze flitting over his hiding place without recognition.

"It must be the wind." Rebecca tugged her daughter back inside. "Come now, to bed. Don't tempt the things of the night."

Von Krolock chuckled as the window closed shut over the sounds of Sarah's protests.

_Too late, Rebecca._

Of course, none of this felt particularly proper, to be spying on a girl, a child, but neither did it feel particularly wrong. What were morals and societal considerations to an amoral creature such as himself? Wasn't he damned and cursed already? What harm to take interest in an innocent life untainted by death and insatiable appetite?

**xxx**

_*cantec de leagan- song of the cradle (lullaby), Romanian_

_A/N: "I'm just an angel, Driving blindly Through this world; I'm just a slave here, At the mercy Of a girl…" When the Body Speaks, Depeche Mode_


	3. Chapter 3 - Only a Rose

**_Chapter 3_**

**_Only a Rose_**

**7**

On the eve of Sarah's seventh birthday von Krolock spent a good while in the tangled wilderness of one of the castle gardens. The heady fragrance of flowers and green growing things hung heavy in the still humid air. Lightning flashed in the distance behind the dark bulk of mountains, followed by the grumble of thunder.

The rain started as he took his leave, a soft patter that became a steady sprinkle as he ran through the trees, following the twisting road down into the village. By the time he swarmed up the face of the inn it was a good downpour. Inside, every room for rent was full of sleeping bodies. Not a huge surprise as Koukol, his hunchbacked servant, had told him of this trading party traveling from village to village, peddling various wares. Apparently the rain had driven them indoors for the night.

He sensed little Sarah asleep as well, although it was a restless sleep. He tried the window to her room. Locked and latched. Hmm, this was turning out to be a much more complicated undertaking than he had first imagined. He laughed at the sight he must make, a dark wet splotch stuck to the wooden front of the inn. His mantle and long hair hung in a sodden mass against his back.

There was nothing for it; in through the unlocked attic.

Inside he did his best to ignore the scent of prey, which proved difficult as every breath into his sinuses and mouth brought in air saturated with the taste and smell of men, women and children, each with a singular character and flavor. The rhythmic swish and pulse of multiple heartbeats added into the mix didn't help matters any. _Focus. Do what you came to do and get out._ With preternatural stealth he crept into Sarah's room. She slept curled into a ball in the middle of a small bed shoved against the opposite wall. From an inner fold of his cloak von Krolock brought out one perfect white rose, just starting to open, which he laid on the dresser, next to the simple wooden comb with four broken teeth, and the brush with the bristles well worn and starting to lay flat.

As he turned to leave, a sudden flash of light illuminated the room. Barely a breath later followed a deafening crash of thunder. Sarah cried out in fitful sleep.

He stopped and looked back, debating with himself. Rivulets of water dripped from his clothes onto the planked floor. Too dangerous to linger, risking discovery, surrounded by easy blood...such a fool's errand, what was he thinking?

Another whimper, another muffled cry.

With a silent sigh von Krolock stepped to the bedside and dropped to his knees.

"Hush," he breathed. Carefully, oh so carefully, he skimmed over the turbulent surface of her emotions, leaving peace and calm in his wake. "It's only the wind, the storm," he crooned, "only the night running wild…."

The worried wrinkle on her brow smoothed, the flicker beneath her eyelids slowed. She turned toward him, one hand reaching out of the covers.

Gently he tugged the rough but warm wool blanket back over her outstretched arm.

"Happy birthday _star copil_-star-child." He permitted himself one touch, one finger gliding across her flushed velvet cheek.

On the way back home, he rode the wind, high in the storm, through the rain and mist, utterly drenched and soaked and not caring, the night running wild under his skin.

**xxx**

_star copil- star child, Romanian_

_A/N: "And he was just like a great dark wing, within the wings of a storm; I think I had met my match, he was singing..." Sara, Fleetwood Mac_


	4. Chapter 4 - Beautiful Child

**_Chapter 4_**

**_Beautiful Child_**

**_12_**

The secretive visits continued, a guilty pleasure. Time passed, and von Krolock noted with some surprise how fast Sarah transformed into a lissome child in pigtails, losing her babyish chubbiness. She grew into a girl who loved to dance and sing, but who also possessed a thoughtful and inward side as well. Often, after putting out the candle for the night, she would sit at the window gazing out into the ancient forests and mountains, looking up at the moon and stars. He felt her wonder, with a current of longing underneath, and her clear eyes seemed to see far more than the physical reality before her.

How strange, to see something timeless in eyes so young.

Each birthday, from the time she turned seven, he continued to leave one white rose, usually just inside the window sash. He avoided entering if at all possible. Sarah tried to stay awake each birthday eve, to catch him in the act, all to no avail. He would grin at her frustration as she lay still and quiet, breathing deeply, pretending to be asleep. That never worked, of course. He always managed to wait until she succumbed to sleep, although once-last year on her 11th birthday- dawn was tinting the sky to blue as he shot back to his sanctuary, like a bat out of hell.

By this time he wasn't overly concerned that these small infrequent tokens would be discovered as a threat. Rebecca had scolded Sarah after the first rose, assuming her daughter had taken the bloom from a neighbor's garden without permission. Tight-lipped, Sarah had hidden every rose from that time onward, in a small wooden box she hid under a loose floor board. On more than one occasion von Krolock had seen her sneak out the box after her parents had tucked her in, removing the lid, touching the dried petals with gentle fingertips, finally leaning over to take a deep breath through her nose. At those times he savored her quiet delight in the lingering perfume, and her puzzled curiosity. For awhile he could almost forget what and who he was, engrossed in the small happenings of her life.

One entertaining evening Sarah held a wrestling match with her unruly mane of hair. One hundred strokes of a brush was the usual evening toilet for most girls and women, but for Sarah such a routine proved to be a Herculean task, a true exercise in frustration.

He almost laughed aloud when she broke the wooden comb in half and spent the next half hour picking splinters and several comb teeth from her half dry hair. Then he came dangerously close to falling from his precarious perch when she next ended up snarling the brush in her hair so completely she was unable to untangle it right away.

A faint sense of guilt colored his amusement, but he hadn't experienced such a pleasant diversion in years.

He made up for it two weeks later, on the eve of her 12th birthday. While she sat at a late dinner, he slipped in through the window (now easily opened since he had adjusted the lock & latch) and left not only the customary snowy rose on her pillow, but also a small bundle bound in silk underneath the same pillow.

Back outside he stationed himself for the best view, practically hanging upside down from the eaves, close enough to see her reaction. Luckily it was quiet and late enough that no one would notice a darker than normal shadow high up on the inn's face.

There he waited, letting his mind drift.

Procuring this particular gift had proven easy, as his son had been a willing accomplice to this task, with his attention to nuance and detail. "I know just the thing," Herbert had said while tapping one of his sharp canines with a long manicured nail, a mannerism that he had picked up from his father. "Simple and elegant, not too fussy."

Von Krolock was grateful for the help, and even more grateful that his son did not pry any further. The only other remark this evening had been, "Glad to see you've found a new hobby, _Tăticul*._ It's refreshing not to find you haunting the castle like a forlorn ghost. Let me know if you find someone I might like to…_observe_."

Von Krolock snorted softly_._ Herbert had not the patience for something so mundane. He would probably say something like, "_This_ is what you've been doing for the past 12 years? How boring." In fact, most of the time, von Krolock himself didn't know why he continued looking in on Sarah, like a naturalist studying a rare exotic flower. He only knew it pleased him in some indefinable way, and that was reason enough for now. She was only a child, after all, and he meant no harm, only wished for her the simple joys of a normal human life, something forever lost to him.

He snapped to attention upon hearing light footsteps racing up the stairs. "Yes mama, papa, Iwon'tforgettosaymyprayersgoodnight!" she called before bursting into her room. Closing the door, she leaned back against it, breath coming fast. Her anticipation was palpable as she went around the enclosed space with her guttering candle casting quivering shadows on the walls and floor. She inspected the window frame closely before opening the casement, heaving a heavy sigh before drifting over to the dresser. Another sigh, shoulders slumping. Feet dragging, she walked over to her bed and plunked herself on the edge before reaching over to set the candle holder on the bedside table. She froze mid-turn, and von Krolock knew she had caught sight of the rose.

"Oh…." She breathed. Down went the candle as she cradled the bloom in both hands, stroking over the petals with her thumbs. "So pretty," she murmured, taking a delicate sniff. She brushed the rose over her lips. "Soft…" Smiling, she toppled over sideways, head hitting the pillow. She lay there for a moment before popping up with a soft exclamation.

Setting the flower aside she drew out the hidden bundle. She ran her hands over the smooth pale red silk, again and again, before lifting the parcel to her face to inhale deeply and rub it against her cheek. Only then, while cradling it in her lap, did she untie the knot and fold the cloth back. Her eyes widened, her breath caught. She slowly lifted the ivory and tortoiseshell comb, then the brush and matching hand mirror, both with grips of silver, examining them closely in turns. Delicate vines and leaves were engraved in the metal, the only adornment to the precious materials which were much more durable than the wood ones she kept wearing out. With quick fingers she undid the long single braid that hung to the small of her back, and experimentally tried the comb at her hair. A few strokes, then she switched to the brush.

She didn't stay long at this task before suddenly gathering up the bundle and rose. She padded over to the window and pushed it fully open. Von Krolock stayed very still in the shadow of the eaves; Sarah stood just a few scant feet away. For a moment she looked out into the night, a slight breeze playing through her undone hair and rippling her dress against her slight boyish frame. She reached out a hand, palm up, fingers slightly curled.

"I know you're out there," she whispered. "Thank you." She hugged the gifts to her chest with her other arm. "They're beautiful." One lone tear traveled down her cheek, leaving a clear glistening trail. So unlike his tears, which were tinged with blood. She bowed her head, hair curtaining her face.

What would it be like, von Krolock wondered, to hold her hand, and have her look into his eyes without fear? With great finesse, using the touch beyond human senses, he grazed invisible fingertips over her palm, her cheek, finally resting on the crown of her head like a priest giving benediction.

Sarah's open fingers closed, as if she were clasping an unseen hand. She lifted her head, eyes still shut, as a smile slowly curved her mouth. A clear thread of sound came from her throat as she began to sing, low and quiet.

_"Esti ingerul meu_

You're my angel

_Esti tot ce mi-am dorit_

You're all I ever wanted

_Si iti promit, n-am sa te pierd_

And I promise, I won't lose you

_Esti ingerul meu_

You're my angel

_Si daca ma iubesti_

And if you love me

_Eu te primesc sa ma pazesti._

I receive you to protect me." **

Von Krolock slowly withdrew his unseen touch. No angel he, save an angel of death, keeping watch over a trusting child.

**xxx**

_*Tăticul - Daddy, Romanian, Babylon online translator_

_**Esti Ingerul Meu - You're My Angel, by Directia 5, Romanian. (Yes, I totally cheated. This is not an old song but a modern one.)_

_A/N: "Beautiful child, Beautiful child, You are a beautiful child, And I am a fool once more..." Beautiful Child, Fleetwood Mac_

_The idea for the brush, comb & mirror gifts came from reading an anonymous discussion on Tumblr regarding von Krolock's motives behind his actions. The writer noticed Sarah's hand mirror and brush, which had grips of silver, in the German/Austrian productions, and speculated if they were gifts from the Count, as Sarah could not afford to buy them for herself and certainly it was highly unlikely that they came as gifts from her parents._

_Thanks to Wolfs bane wicked for reviewing; it's nice to get feedback from readers :)_


	5. Chapter 5 - Moon Time

**_Chapter 5_**

**_Moontime_**

**_16_**

It was a warm summer evening, and von Krolock lay on the roof of the inn. A large gathering was present downstairs engaged in some kind of celebration, and Chagal had banished Sarah to her bedroom upstairs, something he did with amazing frequency since his daughter had started to blossom from gangly girl child to young woman.

Not that von Krolock minded. _By all means, Chagal, protect your daughter's virtue if you can. You can't protect her from me. _That is, if he intended her harm, which he did not.

Without sight he knew Sarah stood at her window, looking out into the night, pining and pouting. Angry, a wild bird in a cage, who had pleaded to be allowed to watch the festivities, only to be punished when she tried to defy her father.

"I will escape," she muttered. "Somehow, someway, I will leave this place. There has to be more than this. I KNOW there is more than this!" She thumped the sill with her fist.

Discordant, her frustration jangled against his nerves, before slowly fading. She sighed. Eventually he heard her walk away, then return back. Subtle sounds, familiar sounds, of letting down her hair...ah yes, the nightly ritual of combing and brushing. Over the years of keeping watch over her, he had learned the ordinary routines of her daily life and drew quiet enjoyment from them. Her resignation gave way to wistfulness. He could hear everything, every intake of breath, every heart beat-he counted 72 in the last minute-every stroke of the brush that he had gifted her with scratching along her scalp, gliding through her hair...he drowsed as she sang softly to herself. Dreamy, peaceful. Gradually that feeling dwindled away, replaced by a vague unease.

She drew a sudden breath, gave a little cry. Pain. Shocked recognition. Instantly alert, von Krolock slid closer to the edge, peeked over. A small hand, white-knuckled, gripped the window sill. Was she ill? Sick? Odd, she seemed just fine a moment ago. He reached out his senses and felt a clench in his lower abdomen, shadow to her discomfort. Then it hit him like a fist in the face. In the warm still air the sweet metallic scent of blood drifted into his nostrils. Complex, female, and hormonal. Menstrual blood. Virginal blood. _Her_ blood.

_No longer a child. _

Slowly he levered himself up on his hands and knees, his body tensing, gathering itself, a cat ready to spring. One leap and he would be in her room. He could take her there, right above the noisy raucous crowd, and no one would know until it was too late. In reflex he sucked in breath after breath, drinking in the pungent bouquet, a delicious delirium that called to him, begging him to taste it, a seductress's siren song. Iron and rust coated his tongue, thick and tart. Saliva flooded his mouth. Unbidden, the darkness within reared up, sending tendrils snaking throughout his body, filling his chest, his throat, his head, pressing heavy at the back of his eyes. He shuddered as his long fingers dug into the rough thatch of the roof. The roots of his canines ached in time with the sudden pulse in his groin. He wanted, oh how he wanted…he wanted by everything holy and unholy to kneel between her legs and taste her, drink from her, _know_ her, make her scream in ecstasy. And then he wanted…he wanted to _cover_ her, feel the blood smeared hot on his body…images flashed across his vision, spattered with red.

Bowing his head, he squeezed his eyes shut and willed the tide to subside. Even after all these years it was a struggle to maintain control. He could barely swallow between the panting and the saliva dripping from his open mouth. When a breeze blew over him, catching and lifting the hair that flowed over his back and sides like a second cloak, he drew a deep breath. Mountains. Pines. Water. Earth.

_No._ He would not take by force that which he coveted. And covet Sarah he did, with a bewildering fierce thirst that ran like quicksilver in his veins.

He groaned, deep in the back of his throat. He had to get out of here, right now. Steal away, fly away, with no one the wiser, except himself. For one agonizing moment he hesitated, then with a great bound hurdled into the starlit sky.

That was much, much too close.

He fell upon the first warm living thing he found, a stag grazing in a mountain meadow.

When he finally returned to the castle, covered with gore and reeking of animal, Herbert took one look at him and wisely stayed out of his way.

Just as well, given the foul mood that possessed him.

To the rest of his malefic congregation he issued a warning. _Sarah Chagal, the innkeeper's daughter-she's mine. Touch her at your peril. _Spoken in a soft deliberate voice laced with menace. They bowed down low, fear in their eyes, afraid of his wrath. As well they should be, he being the strongest and most vicious of them all. He needed only a whisper of an excuse, one hint of defiance, to tear someone apart. He had done it before, he had no doubt he would do it again. In fact, he wanted to do it now. But no one defied him. No one challenged him. They all slunk away back to the cemetery, like whipped dogs with tails between their legs.

Von Krolock curled his lips in a silent snarl. Now he was both hungry and aroused, a dangerous combination. Only human blood would soothe the gnawing emptiness, and there wasn't enough time to go back out to hunt. As for the other...well, self abuse was not his sport of choice, but the ache had long ago crossed into the realm of pain and he needed release.

It was not a good night.

He stayed away for the following week, though every fiber of his wretched being urged him to return, and no longer from any simple innocent curiosity. The tenor of his intentions had shifted into something ominous and much more familiar. All except for the intensity, which rocked him to the core. Whatever happened to his discipline, his restraint?

_No longer a child. God help him._

The one thing he did do was have the apothecary make up an infusion of willow bark which was secretly delivered to Sarah through various circuitous channels via a midwife (well paid for her silence and discretion) with instructions as to its use.

Every night of that week he went hunting at a large distant township in the opposite direction from the village. Hoping for more challenging prey, he stalked killers and other such criminals, ultimately ripping out their throats in a messy, violent orgy of blood that barely slaked his thirst. The rest of the time he shut himself in the library or his study and brooded.

It was not a good week.

**xxx**

_A/N: average age of menstruation in European girls back in the late 1800's (late 19th century when this story takes place) was 16.6 years. _

_A/N: "It is her moon time, When there's iron in the air, A rusted essence, Woman may I know you there...Unholy water, Sanguine addiction...Don't spill a drop dear, Let me kiss the curse away, Yourself in my mouth, Will you leave me with your taste?" Wolf Moon, Type O Negative_


	6. Chapter 6 - All Else is Hollow

A/N: I apologize for the long wait for this update. I just started a new job and it's taking a lot of my brainpower. Not to mention that I'm also trying to write the last chapter of this story as well as edit the previous chapters prior to posting.

**_Chapter 6_**

**_All Else is Hollow_**

**_16_**

In the end it was Herbert, with his insufferable cold vampire logic and his lust for life, who swayed von Krolock. His son's outward flamboyance only served to mask a keen mind, with even keener powers of observation. Not much missed his notice, especially anything concerning his father. Near the end of the week he cornered von Krolock in the study and ferreted out the reason for his discontent.

"Bleeding?" Herbert asked. "Umm, I can only imagine how delectable she must have smelled." He gave a husky hum of appreciation and licked his lips.

Von Krolock grunted noncommittally. He felt dizzy recalling how close he had come to losing all control. That had been unexpected, not to mention disconcerting.

"Why shouldn't you have her, _Tata*_? You told me she wants to be free-give her freedom. Take her away from the mundane life she's destined for otherwise, a life that she doesn't want anyway. Whether you drink her dry or make her one of us, you'll take her away from all that. You know you want to. Stop fighting it."

Von Krolock looked at his son, standing lithe and slender in the firelight, golden and as perfect as a Greek statue. Devil's advocate clothed in unearthly beauty, as light as his father was dark.

"There is enough pain in the world without me adding to it."

"Pain? It would be a severe mercy. With one crimson kiss you would preserve her, make her as constant and unchanging as a star in the firmament. Or would you rather let her live a small human life and wither away into decrepitude and finally dust?"

Von Krolock leaned back in his chair. The armrests creaked under his clenched hands. He stared unseeing into the flames. _A small life, a human life…._

What right did he have to condemn a child of light to the endless night? What right to deny Sarah the joys of bearing children and raising a family? Or to deprive her of the glorious sun and beyond that, God's grace? He had never had a choice; God forsook him the moment he woke to darkness, and blood crossed his lips. He was the perversion of that grace, not a savior and not a deliverer. The only communion he could offer was the communion of blood and the grave.

Perhaps that was always meant to be her fate, from the moment he stood witness to her birth, from the moment his shadow fell upon her in her crib.

"What did you expect to happen?" Herbert asked, as if reading his father's mind. "Did you think she would remain unchanged after hearing your voice all her life?" He gave his father a sharp glance from icy blue eyes. "Did you…_touch_ her?"

Von Krolock knew full well that Herbert wasn't referring to physical touch. As if in answer to that thought, he felt the merest whisper at the edge of his awareness, which he immediately blocked. "Stay out of my head, boy."

"Heaven and hell!" Herbert swore. "Your voice AND your _touch_? She's ruined-she'll never be satisfied with a normal human life now." He stalked over from the great stone fireplace and gracefully seated himself in the chair opposite von Krolock. "You have to finish it. Kill her, change her, just decide and stop torturing yourself." His head tilted as he regarded his father.

"Though it might be better to bring her across," he said in a thoughtful tone, "if you intend to do more than just consume her." Herbert smiled slyly, a wicked light glimmering in his eyes. "The world is still fallen. It is not meet for the wolf to dwell with the lamb, nor for the leopard to lie down with the kid.* What makes you think it will be different this time?"

_Because this time he felt something more than just hunger and lust._

But what price freedom? Would Sarah be willing to pay it? Or to realize she would be trading one prison for another?

"I will consider it," von Krolock said at last. He was tired of fighting with himself. If only his need, his desire, wasn't so excruciating, so difficult to bear. "But only if she chooses what I offer._" _

_Then everything I ask of her, she must give, freely. Then where I lead, she must follow, of her own accord._

"Good." Herbert said. He grinned. "You wait much longer and her ignorant parents will marry her off to the first acceptable suitor, likely some dull boorish farmer or woodcutter." He gave a delicate shudder. "If I had to make the choice I'd choose you in a heartbeat. The girl would be mad to resist a handsome devil like yourself."

"Devil is right," von Krolock muttered. "If she has any sense, any sanity, she will refuse to have anything to do with me." _As if there wasn't enough blood on his hands already._

Again Herbert smiled his sharp edged smile. "Like calls to like, dear Father. I wager she will accept. When will you ask?"

"Not yet."

"What are you waiting for?"

"She is just a girl."

"Not anymore," Herbert pointed out. " She's old enough to breed and bear children, yes?"

"Still too young." Von Krolock shook his head. _And much too innocent._ Not that that had ever stopped him before. But this time, some strange intuition bade him wait.

"Define 'young'." His golden son laughed, long canines glinting. "That's what you said about me, as I recall. Besides, her age could be advantageous in certain situations. For example, if the need arose, she could pose as your daughter."

Von Krolock straightened up in his chair and glared at his son.

"Ohhh… I see." Herbert shrugged, an impish look slanting up from under his eyelashes. "But I was so hoping for a baby sister."

"Herbert," von Krolock growled. "Don't try my patience."

"Sorry, _Tăticul_***." But he didn't sound sorry in the least.

Later, von Krolock stood on the high wall walk between the north facing castle towers and debated with himself. The half moon sailed high in the heavens, only slightly dimming the glitter of stars. The wind's breath from the mountains hinted of the winter cold to come.

What did he really intend to do?

He had watched over the years, waiting, waiting, patiently waiting… for what? He had done it without thought, almost by instinct. Whether it was the predator or the man within or a combination of both he didn't know. What he did know were Sarah's dreams, her desires, her heart, her soul. He knew her in a way deeper than flesh, though he wanted that too now, as well as her blood. But not yet. The time was not right.

He would continue to wait, wait for the secret seed he had planted in Sarah's heart to bloom. Wait until she truly heard his voice, the voice that had sung her to sleep as a little girl, the voice that he knew insinuated itself into all her dreams, waking and otherwise.

On the eve of her 17th birthday, he left a blood red rose on her window sill, instead of snowy white.

_No longer a child._

**xxx**

_*Tata - Father, in Romanian, Babylon online translator_

_**Isaiah 11:6, King James Version: The wolf also shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid; and the calf and the young lion and the fatling together; and a little child shall lead them._

_***Tăticul - Daddy, Romanian, Babylon online translator_

_A/N: "To the soul's desires The body listens, What the flesh requires Keeps the heart imprisoned, What the spirit seeks The mind will follow, When the body speaks All else is hollow; I'm just an angel Driving blindly Through this world; I'm just a slave here, At the mercy Of a girl…You keep me waiting For the promise That is mine, Please stop debating, Please stop wasting your time…" When the Body Speaks, Depeche Mode_


End file.
